A voice came to him. “Since you cannot be persuaded to leave, you might as well come in…”
Ja’tar smiled to himself, stood tall and straightened his cloak. He walked slowly, but with determination up the path until it opened into a large cavern that was vast enough that he couldn’t see the roof. The cavern was dark, hot and damp. Except for a small fire that burned in a pit in the center, it was empty of all living things.
There were caves, dozens of caves around the perimeter, stacked far above where he could see; the lairs of individual dragons carved out of solid rock by the intense heat and magic that flowed through their veins.
Ja’tar could see the telltale glow of dragon fire from some of the caves as their occupants heated the surrounding rock. Billows of steam raced into the dark, headed for the ceiling. The sound of steam as water hit molten rock broke the silence that hung in the air.
Ja’tar stepped out into the cavern; he didn’t drop his wards. It was empty except for the giant skeletons of the ancient dragons that stood in a circle around the perimeter, wings extended, jaws wide. They towered thirty or more feet above Ja’tar. His footsteps echoed, bouncing off the towering rock walls.
He was alone; he saw no movement. In the center of the fire pit sat the projected human form of Voltaire. She appeared the same as she had all those years ago. The lady was ageless, a redhead, fine of feature. Ja’tar walked until he stood before her. The eyes were those of his familiar, yellow with green striations. He extended his hand, but was instead greeted with a warm hug.
She beamed from ear to ear. “It has been a very long time my friend!”
Ja’tar was surprised at the greeting and he grabbed her by her shoulders and pushed her back, checking her face.
“You don’t need to worry,” she assured him. “They just didn’t like that you showed up unannounced after a millennia. Pfft! Dragon pride—you know how males can get.”
“I wouldn’t have come unannounced, but circumstances were out of my control.”
Voltaire raised an inquisitive brow. “Let’s sit and talk. I have sent the boys to go and get your friends.”
“You look well…” he said, making small talk.
She nodded. “You look older.”
“I am older,” he grunted as he shifted his weight.
“Still grumpy?” she mocked.
“Some might say yes!” he joked thinly.
“You have traveled far…” she pried. “This is no casual visit…”
Ja’tar settled down on a flat rock next to the fire. He held his hands out and warmed them in the flickering flames. “I don’t even know where to begin…I…”
“Well then, how about catching me up on the news of the last eleven-hundred years or so,” she said, giving him a wink. “Surely you have grand adventures to share!”
“Wish that I had such! Truth is, I don’t remember much. It seems that the Keep was under a glamour for the better part of those years. I still have not ferreted out who or whom had put it into motion. I’m getting back some of the memories, but most of those years are but a blur. We just managed to break the spell two days ago.”
“Ah, the day I felt you return,” she dryly said.
Ja’tar nodded.
“That was a very large display of magic you released into the sky.”
“Foolish, I know.”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. “I’m sure it was felt by every magic creature that walks this plane.”
Ja’tar shrugged.
“So, about this glamour…?”
His eyes narrowed. “It was clever, powerful…devious. We discovered it by accident.”
Voltaire got a concerned look on her face. “Was it the Ten?”
Ja’tar grimaced. “Unlikely. They are gone…missing…or dead. We don’t really know. I think the original glamour was theirs, although it seems that not all of it was…I don’t know…none of this makes sense.”
“I’m not sure they will be greatly missed…or fondly remembered by the races.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
Voltaire changed the subject. “How is your father and sister?”
Ja’tar showed her the ring.
She saw the look on his face. “Oh…”
Ja’tar stared into the fire blankly for several minutes before he managed to choke out, “To’paz was killed by a demon, or died when the gates closed. I can’t be sure of which. She had a son named Bal’kor.”
“I don’t understand. Why would the gates harm her?”
“It is a very long story…our magic has been corrupted,” he said. “When we have more time…”
Rua’tor and Mica entered the chamber being escorted by a small boy. The lad had his mother’s eyes and hair.
“Ja’tar, meet Bolten, my son,” she proudly said.
“Son? Well, things have changed.” He stood and shook the lad’s hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance Bolten. I am Ja’tar.”
The lad turned to his mother. “Is he…Is he...you know…a god?”
Voltaire chuckled. “Yes, son. He is a god.”
Mica’s jaw dropped to the floor. She tried to cover it up, but both Rua’tor and Ja’tar had seen it.
“My mother says you are trustworthy…for a human.”
Ja’tar didn’t know how to respond.
Voltaire broke the awkward silence. “So, what brings you to the Spires? I assume it isn’t the scenery or weather,” she said, sharper than she intended.
Ja’tar noted the change in her tone and paused before he answered. “No, a rather dire set of circumstances. The Keep has been attacked by the demons, Warvyn to be specific. I fear most wizards in the Keep are dead. The skills of those in the Keep have deteriorated over the years…as I mentioned. The twisted magic of the glamour doesn’t seem to harm demons, or protect the wielders from true magic.”
“Oh, my. That one never gives up. I thought you two had an understanding?”
Ja’tar snorted. “Apparently we didn’t.”
Several loud roars came from above, forcing Ja’tar to look up abruptly
“Ignore them. They listen in.” Voltaire twirled her hair. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes! That is too bad. The timing seems a bit too much of a coincidence.”
Ja’tar looked at her blankly. He hadn’t thought about it in the scope of time, but she was right. There were too many unexplained happenings for all of this to have been happenstance.
“Oh, and did I forget to mention that a dark mage wanders the land,” he added, hanging his head in defeat.
“So you said. We knew about the dark one…”
Ja’tar frowned, letting her know he was upset at not being told. “I gather you’ve known for a while.”
“We didn’t think it was of significance. There have been many dark ones over the years. We watch them all.”
Ja’tar’s brows narrowed and his lips went thin. “Many?”
Voltaire smiled. “More than you would care to know about. They always end up being…insignificant. The Dark Lord has many that fill his ranks. People never learn that shortcuts get them nowhere. He has a way of making sure that his agreements are…how shall I say…short lived!”
Mica’s face turned red for a second. She hid it by laying her cheek on Rua’tor’s shoulder.
Rua’tor grunted loudly.
Ja’tar turned to his friend, remembering he had failed to make introductions. “I’m sorry. This is Rua’tor, our Floormaster. Rua’tor, meet Voltaire.”
Rua’tor’s expression turned confused as he shook her hand. “I..I..I thought that you were a dragon.”
Voltaire slapped her hands on her thighs and laughed. “I am. This is just my small self. It’s not much more than a projection, really.”
Rua’tor’s confusion grew. “But I shook your hand…”
“Oh, yes. I am quite solid. We dragons shape-shift when it suites us. But even we cannot violate the rules of being. My mass would be so heavy this poor version of myself would be
crushed.”
“Then where are you?”
Ja’tar pointed to a ledge high above the floor.
A giant dragon’s head popped out over the edge and peered down and loosed a blast of flame.
“How can you be in two places at the same time,” Rua’tor asked.
Before Voltaire could answer, a smaller dragon swooped down to the floor in dramatic fashion and the image of a small teen girl coalesced in front of Voltaire. “Is he here mother? Is that him?”
Voltaire motioned toward Ja’tar. “Yes Fae, this is Ja’tar. Ja’tar, meet my daughter Fae.”
Fae looked him up and down and slowly circled him. “I can feel the magic. Are you sure it is safe?”
“Yes, dear. Ja’tar is perfectly safe.”
“He’s human?”
Ja’tar chuckled. “And what were you expecting?”
She looked at him as if he were daft. “A god. I was expecting a god!”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m afraid we gods look a lot like normal men,” Ja’tar said, lifting his hands to the sides.
“Can you do some god stuff.”
Voltaire rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my daughter…”
Fai leaned forward and put her hands on her hips. “Well, can you.”
Before Ja’tar could move a finger, Voltaire hushed her. “Remember a few seconds ago when all the magic went away?”
Fae nodded.
“That…was Ja’tar.”
She sniffled in feigned frustration, but stood in front of him and held her arms out. “Well, I guess that will have to do. I was hoping for something more…dramatic…and showy. Regardless, pleased to meet you uncle Ja’tar. Mother said Bolten and I should treat you like family.”
Ja’tar’s eyes welled up and he got visibly choked up. He managed to grab the girl tightly and give her a warm embrace, causing her to giggle. She lost control of her projection for a second and Ja’tar ended up holding nothing but air.
“Well children, Ja’tar and I have adult business. Why don’t you run along now. I’m sure Ja’tar will tell you stories later.”
The two small children faded away, leaving the four of them alone in the pit. Voltaire apologized. “I’m sorry about the inquisition. She’s precocious, takes after her father.”
A loud snort and a belch of flame issued forth from one of the caves high above. Voltaire rolled her eyes and snorted, causing Ja’tar to smile. “That would be Astotle.”
“I never knew you got married,” Ja’tar stammered. “You have a nice family.”
Dragons didn’t exactly get married, but Voltaire was in no mood to argue the point. There are just some things that are better left alone. There was no way a human would be able to comprehend the complexities of dragon mating rituals and bonding.
“I guess I should get to the point of my visit,” Ja’tar abruptly said. “I need to speak with the elders.”
Voltaire sat quietly. “I assumed as much.”
“And?”
“…and they agree to meet with you. The younger dragons disagree. They are bitter with…our circumstances.”
“I see.”
She shrugged. “Who can blame them. They were not here during Ror. They didn’t see the atrocities, or feel the harness.”
Ja’tar nodded, knowing it was the truth. He thought about Dra’kor and how he felt about the rules of the Keep. He had a good understanding of their frustration. They were still paying a price for something they had no part in, bound by a treaty well over a thousand years old.
Voltaire watched Ja’tar as his eyes glazed over. She knew that look. He was lost in analysis. She let him sit quietly for several minutes before she interrupted. “Are you hungry? I put on a leg of meat for you. I assumed you would be, although as I recall you could conjure up something that resembled food.”
Ja’tar snapped out of his mood and laughed. “I’m sure that whatever you have would be welcome.”
Rua’tor nodded as his stomach growled loudly.
A man appeared, carrying a platter with what seemed to be half a cow. It was rather rare, but Ja’tar knew better than to criticize. He used the blade to cut off the outside layer and placed a large slice on one of the plates brought by another young girl.
He cut off a chunk and took a bite. It was good, if not strong of flavor. He thought about cooking it a little with magic, but knew that it would be felt by every dragon in the lair.
Rua’tor didn’t care if it was raw. He sliced off a good one inch cut that probably weighed two pounds or more, and sat down to eat.
“This is great!’ he commented to no one in particular.
Voltaire continued to talk, filling in some of the blanks of what had transpired over the past thousand plus years. Ja’tar and Rua’tor ate quietly and listened.
When they had finished, a group of older white-haired men and women entered the chamber and gathered around the stones that served as chairs. Ja’tar stood as they entered, recognizing at least two as being elders from days long past. Each aligned themselves with one of the skeletons of the ancients. There were six in total.
The conversation was abrupt, and blunt. Neither side minced words.
A yellow eyed man started the meeting by proclaiming, “We will only speak with the god!”
Rua’tor’s face contorted and his face reddened. Ja’tar placed his hand on his friend’s just as it was forming into a fist.
Voltaire nodded to the yellow. “Mica and Rua’tor need to leave. It is customary for the council only to address the person in charge.”
Ja’tar nodded. It wasn’t unexpected. He watched as she led them off down one of the tunnels off the main chamber. The elders waited for them to go, allowing them plenty of time to get out of earshot.
The eldest man leaned in. His eyes were icy blue; his skin had a translucent blue tint. “Why are you here?”
“I...We need your help. The Keep has been attacked and there are beasts of the lower planes wandering the realms.”
The thin man with the dark green eyes swore, “You are mistaken if you think we care about your precious realms.”
The black-eyed man grumbled, “I wish for this to be done.”
“We do not wish to help. We stay out of the affairs of men,” the eldest with the red eyes said, measuring her words carefully.
The green growled and his image temporarily shimmered. Ja’tar heard a loud roar from the chambers above. He knew that the council did not want to meet with him, but felt obligated. The fact that they appeared in their shifted forms was meant to show him honor due his name and title. Dragons were nothing if not sticklers for protocol and honor!
Ja’tar fought to find the right words. “These are not just the affairs of men. There is a dark mage loose and she is a threat to everyone and everything.”
With the flair of her eyes, the green answered. “You exaggerate. She is of no concern to us.”
The white albino nodded, but uttered not a word. Ja’tar got the distinct impression that talking to humans was beneath her.
Ja’tar fought to keep from losing his temper. “Have you forgotten the harnesses?”
The gray haired woman with the red eyes snarled. “We forget nothing.”
“Why then?”
She leaned in to Ja’tar. “The collars were destroyed at Ror. Your father and you made sure of that…”
The gray-eyed one nodded. “I was there…”
“As was I…” the black added.
Ja’tar looked across all the faces. “But I have seen them since.”
The blue scowled. “Impossible! You are most likely wrong and only think you saw them. They are gone from this world. Those you see must be copies of the original, but we doubt they are of any consequence. The dark one would need to have harnessed the powers of the Ten. We are safe!”
Ja’tar raised his brow. “And if they are real and work?”
Eye rolls from around the group met his glance.
“They can
not, as I just explained,” the blue repeated.
Ja’tar refused to back down. “But if they do?”
The woman with the red eyes sighed. “We will wait and see.”
“But...”
The black spoke up, “We have granted your rights under the Rotterdam pact. You have had your council. Let us stop this banter and part ways.”
The blue-eyed man threw up his hands and waved Ja’tar off. “That is our final answer. If things transpire as you suggest, we will reconsider.”
Ja’tar felt defeated and his head hung heavily.
The red-eyed woman stood. “You can stay the night, a storm brews. But tomorrow you must go. We will see you safely back to your gate.”
The white nodded and looked at Ja’tar. Her gaze seemed to cut right through him.
The elders got up and dissolved away. The air was filled with growls and grunts as the dragons continued to argue amongst themselves. Unfortunately, Ja’tar did not speak their language fluently. He only picked up scattered words here and there. He recognized the bitterness and the sour feelings that many of the dragons harbored against him and the Keep.
Voltaire set a hand on Ja’tar’s back. “Do not judge them too harshly. They only saw the worst of men.”
“I’m afraid that they underestimate the power of this dark one. She had proven difficult to track and nearly impossible to out maneuver. By the time she makes her move, it may well be too late.”
Voltaire placed her hands on his. “I hear your concerns. I guess only time will tell.”
Ja’tar nodded.
“We have set up one of the small nursery rooms for you and you friends. The council has asked me for your assurances that you will leave…peacefully tomorrow.”
“We will,” Ja’tar said. “Can you take us back to the gate or do I need to call on the tigears?”
“I will take you.”
Ja’tar nodded despondently.
Voltaire grabbed him by the arm and looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry this didn’t work out as you planned.”
Ja’tar followed her down a tunnel to a small room where his friends were waiting. He didn’t have to say anything. The answer the dragon’s had given was written all over his face.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 21